


If/Then

by cher



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-13 12:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13570887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cher/pseuds/cher
Summary: Elias knows.





	If/Then

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



This inimitable, endless week has ground its boots so thoroughly into Jon’s neck that he feels he’ll never be free of its tread. Small mercies and mixed blessings: it’s the end of this wretched day, but now he’s alone in the Archive. 

...probably alone in the Archive. Is he ever, actually, alone? Watched by the Beholding and/or Elias—he’s not yet sure if they amount to the same thing—Michael liable to appear out of a solid wall at any moment, the Stranger undetectable, and who knew how many of the rest of them. Gertrude’s ghost, probably—why not?

And now Basira is part of this mess as well, and Jon’s equal parts grateful for another friend he can trust, and desperately worried for her. Also, now, every single person he cares for is tied to the future of the Archive, apart from Georgie. And probably the best possible thing he can do for her is to stay out of her life, completely, before anything gets interested in her. She’s already heard the calliope and he’s terrified that it’s too late. 

That thought, hovering at the back of his mind all day, is suddenly intolerable, and he stands up from his desk so suddenly that he bangs his knee on the underside. Cursing, he limps down the corridor. He doesn’t even know if Elias has a home to go to—it’s quite probable he’s still here, lurking in his office full of bones and who knew what else. 

“Elias!” he snaps as he nears the office. “Are you still here?”

He hears a quiet shuffle and a sigh. “What is it, Jon? And why does it concern me at ten p.m.?”

Jon scowls and rounds the office door. This room always smells strongly of cedar, with the faintest hint of _something_ underneath it. He’s never been able to identify the scent except as _unpleasant_. Martin used to joke that it was the skeletons in the closet, and this awful bloody week has Jon hoping that there is nothing _worse_ than the _actual skeletons_ apparently in this office. Christ. 

“I want you to put Daisy on watch at the place I was staying. You know where,” he glares, arms crossed. 

Elias leans back in his chair, every perfect centimetre of him in stark contrast to Jon, who is very much aware that he looks like he’s been dragged backward through a burning hedge, possibly by wolves. “Back here a few hours and demands already, Jon?”

Jon uncrosses his arms and strides closer, carefully holding Elias’ gaze. Projecting confidence is the way you get through these things, even if you have recently had it confirmed that your boss is actually some kind of monster. “Look,” he says, voice steady, sure, “I know you know where I was, and I know it…suited you that I be there. So you and I put her in danger, and _that means_ that we try to get her out.”

Elias looks down at his desk, like a predator so sure of itself that it doesn’t need to watch its prey. Of course in Elias’ case he probably is still watching, even if he’s not looking at Jon. “Why would she be in danger, and why should it concern me?”

Jon hates him, intensely. Georgie needs him. He swallows the rage down. “She…heard the calliope. Before I…got burned. I don’t know if she’s all right, and I _need_ to know that she’s protected, Elias.”

Elias regards him with his lizard-cold eyes. Jon tries, as always, to ignore how striking he finds the colour. “Interesting. I didn’t think you were intimate with her.”

Jon can feel his face flushing, embarrassment and rage together. “I’m not! I wasn’t! Most people are capable of caring about others without sex having to be involved!”

Elias’ eyebrows arch. “Yes, I image that’s true. Well. How’s this.” He steeples his fingers, because he’s a cliche Bond villian in a perfect suit when half of London is already asleep. “I need you to put away this hostility. It’s been amusing, but I can’t have you fighting me with the Unknowing possibly imminent. Here is my bargain: I will see your friend protected—though perhaps not by Detective Tonner; I don’t see the wisdom in putting a person already prone to violence near the calliope’s influence—and you will spend an hour every evening in this room with me.”

Jon swallows. “An...hour. Doing what?” He can’t know, can he? Oh, no. 

Elias shrugs, elegantly. “Having a civil conversation, if you like. Sitting in silence if you don’t, I suppose. I certainly have plenty of work to be getting on with. Though before you ask, this is not an opportunity to compel answers from me; you know it won’t work.”

He will regret this. But he has to see Georgie safe. He has to. “All right. An hour, after the rest of them leave.”

Elias meets his eyes, searching, the intensity difficult to bear. And then he nods, picks up the phone on his desk, and dials. “Elias Bouchard,” he says, almost immediately. “There is a woman I want protected. Yes. The calliope, I think. Possibly Michael. Thank you.” He gives Georgie’s address without looking it up, and Jon has to suppress his shudder. 

Then he puts down the phone, and looks at Jon. “We’ll begin tonight. I can see your hatred, you know. And I can see what you hide underneath it. I’m telling you this so you can stop being so afraid that I’m going to find out. I know. I’ve always known, Jon.” His voice is almost gentle, and also, possibly, the most brutal it has ever been. 

Jon’s not quite in control of himself when he collapses into the chair in front of Elias’ desk. “You...know?” he croaks out, hating himself at least as much as he hates Elias.

“Of course I do, Jon. I know everything about you. I have to take care of my Archivist, and how should I be able to do that if I didn’t know what you need?” Elias looks down, briefly, letting Jon collect himself. He can’t collect himself. “If there’d been a way, earlier, I would have taken better care of you then. But you had to find out for yourself. You had to discover who you are to me, to the Archive. And you had to know that you can’t ever leave. That makes it better, doesn’t it, Jon? How could you ever belong somewhere more profoundly than you do here?”

It’s hard to breathe, and Jon has to remember, _has to_ , that Elias is dangerous, that Elias _killed_ his last Archivist. 

“You’re a good Archivist, Jon. Brave and clever, and you’ve survived what would break another man. You’re strong and determined and everything I need my Archivist to be. It’s just that you think you hate me, and you don’t, do you? Do you, Jon?”

Is he being compelled? Is this what it feels like, this utterly uncontrollable urge to open his mouth and let all his secrets come pouring out? Or is that just a lifetime of unanswered yearning given permission to break free? He doesn’t decide to speak, but he hears his own voice anyway. “No. No, it’s not...hate.” Is that...himself, that rasp, that sudden wild laugh ripping free of him? “It’s self defence.”

Elias hums, a delicious sound of approval. “ _Good_ , Jon. I’m so glad you said that. I’d hate to have to wait for you to realise. I remember everything I’ve ever seen, and I most especially remember your first interview. Your pressed suit with the creases not quite straight, your eyes going round when you looked up at me, that first time. I know what you want from me. You can have it, if you’ll just stop fighting me.”

He can’t, though, can he? For the others? He has to stand up to Elias or he might do anything to them, to poor Martin with his sweet young face, or Tim, so terrified. To Melanie, who’s sure she knows what she’s gotten into and categorically does not. Or...maybe he can be such a distraction that Elias leaves them alone? Is he that arrogant? 

In the end, it’s not in him to refuse. Maybe that makes him weak, but this is an enemy who knows him inside and out. An enemy to whom he’s always, shamefully, wanted to kneel. 

He nods, once, and takes a deep breath. “All right,” he says, rasping, and slides down to the floor. His knee aches where he banged it on his desk, a lifetime ago. The cedar-and-wrongness smell is strong where it’s settled into the carpet. He hears footsteps, and Elias’ cool palm settles on the nape of his neck. 

This feeling is exaltation, and despair, and complete, utter peace.


End file.
